Title: Spectrum
Summary: "Come back, come back, Meda! There's still time!" "I can't, Cissy. I love him." Boiling hot, icy cold, and warmth of the middle – the sisters Black until the end. "You are ice, Narcissa, you could never feel something as warm as love."
Rating: K+, for mild violence and character death
Disclaimer: I do not own it
Author's Note: although set in chronological order, this is not a chaptered novel. It will turn out to be a collection of one-shots of varying length with occasional large gaps in the time-line. I hope you enjoy it, and if you're interested in more concerning Andromeda I've written a one-shot story staring her and Sirius titled Bondage which can be found with ease on my profile.
I greatly appreciate reviews, including but not limited to criticism of a constructive nature.
Andromeda Black walked behind her sister Bella in a way that would not be perceived as following. She watched Bella's black curls spring against her back with every stride she took down the corridor of the Hogwarts Express. The crowd seemed to part before her. Only a third year but she seemed to possess some kind of calculated poise that demanded respect of even the older students.
"Look people in the eye, Meda. Don't back down. Always be the first to strike and the last to let go. Remember, you're better than they are. We're better than they are." Bella's heated voice seemed to reverberate in Andromeda's skull, drilled into her mind after months and months of preparation of what to expect at Hogwarts. "You're going to be on your own now, Meda. You need to make a name for yourself. Make a name for your family. Blood means everything, don't forget. There will be no dishonoring your heritage."
Andromeda's stomach was twisting. She looked up at the many students who passed her in the hallway and felt very small, very insignificant, not at all able to make a name for herself and not at all able to uphold the honor of the name Black.
"I'm going to miss you," Narcissa had mumbled into the sheets of Andromeda's bed, to ashamed to show her face and reveal she'd been crying.
"I'm going to miss you," Andromeda whispered back, feeling a lump rise in her throat and eyes sting. She couldn't imagine leaving her little sister behind. Lovely, trusting, sweet Cissy. They had been inseparable ever since Andromeda could remember. "I'm afraid, Cissy."
The words had slipped unbidden from her lips, and Andromeda was immediately ashamed. Blacks were never afraid. It was dishonorable to feel anything but cold certainty. To actually speak the words aloud was unthinkable. Bella would have slapped her.
Narcissa looked up from the blankets and Andromeda saw the swollen eyes and tear tracks running down her face. "You're afraid?" whispered Narcissa.
Andromeda couldn't speak. "Don't ever hang your head, Andromeda Black. Don't sink to that level," her mother's words had hissed through her mind. Andromeda made herself look her sister in the eye, made herself ignore the heat rushing to her cheeks. She nodded.
Narcissa brushed at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I am too."
"You should find a compartment," Bella's voice cut through the air like a knife. Andromeda looked at the back of her sister's head and Bella continued with not a glance behind her. "You need to start scoping out the students, finding out who you should be friends with and who you shouldn't. Don't worry, it'll be obvious."
Andromeda looked around her at the passing students and wondered how it could be so obvious because they all looked the same to her. She looked back to Bella and wished her sister would let her stay with her for a little longer.
"Where are you sitting?" she asked, trying to sound casual so that Bella would not suspect any weakness.
"With my friends, Meda," said Bella, still not turning a hair. "You need to find people your own age, make sure they know who you are. Try to find people you can be with at school. Find out what their blood is."
Andromeda didn't say anything. She continued to look from side to side, glancing at compartments and the students inside and wondering how she was supposed to tell. There was skin covering their blood after all. "Oh, you'll know," her mother had said when Andromeda had tentatively addressed the issue, "If I haven't raised my daughters to tell a wizard from muggle than I don't know what I've done."
"Well?" rang out Bella's voice. Andromeda turned back to look at her sister and abruptly came to a stop. Bella had finally turned to face her. She had stopped in the middle of the corridor with her hands on her hips and eyes flashing. "Stop following me. Go find people your own age."
"Where, Bella –"
"We're on a train, Meda," said Bella, rolling her eyes, "Going to Hogwarts. There are plenty of students about. Go on." Andromeda was dismissed with a wave of Bella's hands that looked like she was shaking her fingers clear of something slimy.
With many more questions pounding through her brain, but knowing she wasn't going to get any answers, Andromeda turned on her heel and started walking the way she'd come. She looked behind her once but Bella's dark curls had already disappeared among the crowd of students.
Now that her sister was no longer leading the way, Andromeda felt a bit lost. The students were not making way for her as they did Bella. Andromeda reminded herself that she was just an unknown, unimportant first year – something Bella had also drilled into her head over the Holiday.
Make a name for yourself.
With a moment of hesitation, Andromeda walked up to a gang of older girls blocking the corridor. Adopting the drawl she had heard Bella and her mother use many a time, she said, "Excuse me."
You're better than they are. Don't let them put you down.
The girls looked down to Andromeda and did not get out of the way. The stared at her in a manner that suggested vague amusement and made Andromeda want to go run and hide in the nearest bathroom. Instead she said, "I want to get through."
One of the girls stepped aside with a roll of the eyes. Andromeda pushed through, remembering to hold her chin in the air as Bella did.
"Brat," muttered one of the girls and the rest tittered. Andromeda hated them. She didn't look back. She felt cold and shaky and tried to tell herself that the girls had at least gotten out of the way. She wondered how Bella managed it so seamlessly.
Walk down the middle of the corridor. Don't let them push you to the side.
Andromeda compromised by weaving her way through the students, ducking under arms and squeezing through gaps. Not exactly the center of attention but at least she wasn't skulking by the wall. She looked into compartments as she passed, catching glimpses of chatting students and reuniting friends.
None of them looked remotely her age, nor obviously Slytherin, as few had changed into their robes yet. Andromeda, of course, had changed into hers, as Bella instructed. Her new black robes were tight and starched and top of the line. The Black sisters didn't get anything but the best. Andromeda pulled at her collar and thought that some of the second hand robes had at least looked broken in.
Fashion is not about comfort. It is about looking dignified. Dignity is everything.
Andromeda slithered through a space between two large boys and looked into the next compartment. A young boy was its sole occupant. He was sitting on the edge of the bench, twiddling his thumbs and looking awkward. Something about him screamed 'first year' and Andromeda wondered if she looked as paltry.
She took a deep breath and drew herself up haughtily as Bella did. "First impressions are everything," she heard her sister's voice as though she was right behind her, hissing into her ear with her hot breath. She slid open the door and the boy looked up. He had a round, red face and looked jovial.
"Who are you?" asked Andromeda.
"Ted," said the boy, "Who are you?"
"I'm Andromeda Black," said Andromeda. She waited for the start of recognition, the flush of crimson in his cheeks, but the boy showed no sign he had ever heard of the name.
"Hello," said Ted instead, smiling widely, "Would you like to sit here?"
Show no doubt. Be prepared. Know what you are going to do before you do it.
"Yes," said Andromeda. She stepped into the compartment, slid shut the door behind her and sat on the bench across from Ted. Ted continued to smile at her.
"Are you a first year too?" asked Ted.
Black's conduct the conversation. You are in charge.
"Yes," said Andromeda, "Do you have any sibling here? I have an older sister. She's Bellatrix Black, third year, in Slytherin."
"Oh," said Ted, "No. I've got three siblings at home, thought. Two brothers and –"
"I have another sister, too," continued Andromeda, "She'll be starting in two years. Narcissa Black."
Ted nodded. Andromeda could sense the imminent decent into silence and pressed on.
Manipulate the conversation, control it. Take them off guard.
"Are your parents wizards?" asked Andromeda.
"I –" Ted started to say and stopped when the compartment door opened. A girl and a boy, both with blond curls peeked their heads in side by side.
"Hullo," said the boy, "Mind if we come in?"
"Sure," said Ted.
Andromeda looked at the boy and girl coldly.
No one interrupts a Black.
"We're Diana and Dirk Cresswell," said the girl, "Are you two first years, as well?"
"Yes," said Andromeda.
"Do you know each other?" asked Dirk.
"We just met," said Ted, "Andromeda just came in."
Act as though you were there first. Blacks are always first.
"I've been with my sister," said Andromeda.
"So your name is Andromeda?" asked Diana.
"Andromeda Black," said Andromeda.
Again it happened, neither brother nor sister showed any sign of having heard the name before. Andromeda was getting frustrated. Everyone knew the Blacks. If you didn't know the Blacks you were unimportant – the Blacks didn't know you.
"I'm Ted Tonks," said Ted.
"Hello, Ted," said Dirk, "Is that a West Ham mark on your bag?"
"Yep," said Ted with a smile that split his face, "My Dad's supported them since forever. So have I."
"Did you see their game yesterday?" asked Dirk.
Ted replied that, yes, he had seen the game, and both boys went off on a spirited discussion about it. Andromeda addressed them both with a curious look but neither paid her any mind. She wondered which Quidditch Team they were discussing, as she had never heard of West Ham before, nor did their mark look familiar. She wondered what it meant to get a red card, or what on earth a 'slide tackle' was.
Always appear to be on top of the situation. Blacks have no doubt. Blacks are never left out of the loop.
It was completely unfair. Andromeda had never been a follower of Quidditch. She'd hurriedly wracked her brain for a way to turn the conversation back in her favor.
Diana turned to her and asked with a shy smile, "Do you follow football?"
The floor seemed to fall from under Andromeda's feet. Football? The Muggle sport with only one ball and two large nets her father held in such high disdain? They were talking about football? She had landed herself in a compartment full of mudbloods. Oh, if Bella ever found out….
Andromeda hurriedly shook her head, no she did not follow football, and hopped to her feet.
"Andromeda, you aren't leaving are you?" asked Ted, looking up from his conversation with Dirk.
In her haste Andromeda forgot her poise, her calm calculation she was supposed to practice at all times, "I – I have to go to the bathroom," she muttered, and immediately turned to the door. She felt her stomach plummet and face go red.
Blacks do not lie. We do not submit ourselves to such a low level of dishonor.
"See you in a bit, Andromeda," said Ted. Andromeda did not answer. She flung open the door and stepped into the corridor.
She was supposed to turn back, to say with bighting sarcasm that she would not see them in a bit. She was supposed to toss her head haughtily and make an exit they would not forget. Instead she slammed shut the door and practically flew down the hallway. The rest of the journey she flitted from empty compartment to empty compartment, dodged her older sister, and sulked in the girls' lavatory.
Black's do not sulk. We do not whine. We take things as they are, hold our heads high, and manipulate the situation to our benefit. We do not admit defeat.